The next morning, Ren was different.
Still smooth. Still charming in that effortless, magazine-cover way. But something in his presence felt sharper, colder like glass right before it cracks. His smile had an edge. His words landed heavier. There was calculation behind his eyes, a flicker of something unreadable that made the back of Haruki's neck tense the second he walked into class.
Haruki stepped through the doorway and felt the shift instantly.
Ren looked up from his seat one arm slung lazily over the backrest, the other resting on Miyako's desk and his eyes found Haruki's like they had been waiting for him. But instead of saying hello, Ren turned back to Miyako with a small smirk.
"You didn't reply to my texts last night," he said, voice light but laced with something quieter. Something colder.
Miyako didn't flinch. She didn't even blink. She just rested her chin on her palm and said coolly, "Wasn't really in the mood to chat."
Ren leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "You walked off pretty fast."
"I changed my mind."
The bell rang, but nobody moved. Haruki slid into his seat behind Miyako, pretending not to watch, but fully alert. Every word felt like a tripwire.
Ren gave a crooked smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Cold feet, huh?"
"No," Miyako replied, her eyes narrowing just a little. "Clear head."
Ren didn't respond right away. Instead, he turned, eyes locking with Haruki's, his expression unreadable.
"She's slippery, you know," he said, voice calm but pointed. "Dangerous if you're the jealous type."
Haruki didn't flinch. He held Ren's gaze, his voice quiet but steady. "I'm not. I'm just aware of what's mine."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Miyako burst into laughter, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. "Okay, that was kinda hot," she muttered.
Ren chuckled, though it was more exhale than amusement, and leaned back in his seat, gaze flicking between the two like he was recalibrating something.
"Suit yourself."
Later that day, during their psychology project period, the classroom felt unusually quiet.
Most students had split into pairs or trios, murmuring and scribbling ideas for their "relationships and identity" assignment. Sunlight spilled through the windows, catching the dust in the air and turning it gold. But at the back of the room, in the corner where Ren and Miyako sat side by side, the atmosphere was anything but warm.
Ren hadn't cracked a joke in ten minutes.
He scribbled in his notebook, absently tapping the end of his pen against the desk. His eyes weren't on the paper. They drifted. To Miyako's hands. To her mouth when she chewed her pen cap. To the way she crossed and uncrossed her legs like her skin was crawling.
He finally broke the silence.
"Why him?"
Miyako didn't look up. She finished writing something on the worksheet and underlined it twice. Her jaw tensed.
When she did speak, it was quiet.
"Because I like the way he listens."
Ren said nothing.
"And the way he holds my hand," she continued, "like it's something precious. Not something he earned. Not something he expects. Just… something he wants to keep safe."
Ren tilted his head slightly. "You don't like him because he's exciting?"
"I like him because I don't have to perform when I'm with him," she replied, setting her pen down and turning to face Ren fully.
There was a flicker of disbelief in his expression. "You mean to tell me you're not performing right now?"
"I'm loud," she said, her voice firmer now. "I'm expressive. That's who I am. But fake? Nah. That's exhausting. And he doesn't make me feel like I have to wear another face just to keep up."
Ren chuckled, soft and low. "You just told me last week that you're fake 90% of the time."
"I said I act different around different people," she corrected. "That's not the same as being fake. It's survival. You, of all people, should understand that."
He leaned back, arms folded, and looked at her for a long moment. Then, finally: "Does he know all of you?"
"He's getting there."
After school, the sky was dipped in watercolor shades of orange and pink, the heat of the sun softening into a gentle breeze that ruffled trees and scattered dry leaves along the sidewalk. Students poured from the school gates like ants from a nest, voices echoing across the courtyard as laughter and chatter filled the air.
Haruki leaned against the gatepost, earbuds in but no music playing. He was scanning the crowd for her. Always looking for her.
When he finally spotted Miyako weaving her way toward him, she looked drained. Her expression was a mask, her steps slower than usual.
"You okay?" he asked, slipping an earbud out.
"Yeah." She didn't stop walking just let him fall into step beside her. "Just done with mind games."
He didn't ask who. He already knew.
They walked in silence for a few blocks, the rhythm of their footsteps syncing up without effort. It was easy with her. Always had been. But today, the silence felt heavier.
Finally, Miyako exhaled. "He asked me why I chose you."
Haruki's jaw tensed slightly. "What did you say?"
She stopped walking.
He turned to face her.
Miyako tilted her head, a small, tired smile curving on her lips. "I said you make me feel like I don't have to be anything I'm not."
Haruki blinked, something loosening in his chest.
Then, without a word, he reached out and pulled her gently toward him, arms wrapping around her in a way that felt more like anchoring than comfort.
"I hate that he gets in your head," he muttered against her hair.
She buried her face in his shoulder. "He doesn't. But he's trying. And I need you to keep reminding me I don't have to prove anything."
He leaned back just enough to kiss her forehead.
"You don't."
They stood like that under the soft wash of the setting sun, streetlights beginning to hum to life above them.
The air was warm, filled with the distant sound of cicadas and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. It could've been the end of the world, and Haruki wouldn't have cared. Not if she was there.
Then she shifted slightly, head still against his chest.
And her voice came so softly he almost didn't hear it.
"I love you, you know."
Time stopped.
His breath caught in his throat.
For a second, the wind seemed to go quiet. The world narrowed to the space between them, to her words still hanging in the air like stars.
He didn't answer immediately.
But then his arms tightened around her like he was afraid letting go might break the moment.
"I know," he said.
There was a pause.
"I'll wait until you're ready to say it."
He took a slow breath.
"I already feel it," he murmured. "Just figuring out how not to ruin it."
She smiled into his chest, her hands resting lightly on his back.
"You won't."
He kissed the top of her head, his voice low, steady.
"I'm not used to getting things right."
"You got me right," she said.
They stood in silence for a long time after that. No pressure. No expectations. Just two people learning how to breathe in the same rhythm.
And for the first time in a long time, Miyako felt like she didn't have to be sharp to survive.
And Haruki who had spent so much of his life holding back let himself hold on instead.
Because sometimes, the line between "what if" and "what is" gets blurred.
And sometimes, the best things in life are the ones you never thought you deserved.